


suddenly we're free to fly

by braille_upon_my_skin



Series: the world we're gonna make [1]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: Anne Wheeler is shrewd beyond her years, and Charity Barnum can read her husband like an open book. Most importantly, they haveeyes.And, that is all anyone needs to see that, after the fire, things have changed for Phillip Carlyle and Phineas Barnum.





	suddenly we're free to fly

**Author's Note:**

> Since seeing this film for the first, and thus far, _only_ time, just a little over a week ago, I have written nearly 8,000 words about this relationship between Hugh Jackman's whimsical portrayal of a controversial historical figure, and Zac Efron's instantly lovable portrayal of the man's fictional partner. 
> 
> It is safe to say that I have lost control of my life.

-

 

Anne is poised in front of her vanity, preparing for tonight's show. Her swirling pink wig sits on her head, obscuring her dark, silky curls, and she has her blush brush in hand when she says, too casually and without any preface, "I see the way you look at him, you know."

Phillip's insides give a harsh jolt, and he freezes in the midst of shrugging his ringmaster's coat on, uncomfortably aware of Anne's eyes on him. He tries not to swallow on reflex, knowing that it would be a dead giveaway.

But, his silence proves as damning as a direct confirmation.

Anne is younger than him, girlhood only a few years behind her. But, she is shrewd beyond her years, jaded, because she's _had to be_ in order to survive a world that views her with such openly venomous rancor purely because of the way she was born. "Come on, Carlyle," she presses, her tone almost teasing and a smile to match it curling her candied lips. "You've never been subtle."

Phillip isn't sure _how_ Anne knows; _what_ he's done that revealed his hand. Did he stare just a little _too_ long? _Too_ intently? Speak _his_ name with _too much_ feeling? Spend _too much_ time standing just a bit _too close_ to _him_? He was so certain he was inconspicuous. He was positive that no one knew, and especially not _him_.

"I…" he starts, but his mouth feels full of cotton, his throat parched. His hands shake as he smoothes out the gilded front of the coat, so much like _his_.

Anne turns from the mirror to face him, and her stare is like a hot white light aimed directly at his skin, burning through to expose everything hidden underneath.

 

\----

 

Phineas Barnum collapses without any flair, style, or grace into the tattered but comfortably faithful armchair seated in a back room of his home.

It has been another morning of handling finances- a process that is always that much trickier without his business partner by his side to finesse and navigate the worst of it- and an afternoon of convincing police to keep an eye on the circus tents, just in case an incidence of protesting gets out of hand, again. Somehow, the task that involved face to face interaction with members of law enforcement sworn to protect, was more draining than dealing with the soulless bankers.

Caroline and Helen are visiting with friends from school that they've managed to win over regardless of their father's spotted reputation, and the house is dark around him, save the dimming sunlight coming through the windows and the orange embers sparking in the fireplace, and quiet, presumably empty. So, it comes as a surprise when arms wrap around his neck.

The soft, sweet-smelling skin covering these arms dulls his shock, transforming it into a familiar warmth that originates in his chest and spreads through the rest of him, easing his nerves.

"Welcome home," Charity greets him, her long blond hair falling into his face.

He allows himself a smile, just for her. But… can't find the energy to give her more than that.

He likes to think that he can retreat into himself, make his face impassive, keep at least a few secrets. At least, when they really need to be kept.

Charity, however, can read him like an open book. She always has. "What is it?" She asks, tipping her face down to regard him with eyes full of love and patience. She has always been his strongest supporter, his burst of warm color in a world of cold, unfeeling gray; soft curves amongst endless straight lines and jagged edges.

To trouble her further than he already has would be a crime, so Barnum shakes his head. "Nothing."

She does not need to speak to tell him that she is unconvinced. "It _is_ something." She kneels beside him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and shifting her hand to his shoulder. From her mouth comes the words that he's been dreading; "You've been different since the fire."

 

\----

 

"I-- " Phillip almost chokes on the words. "I care deeply for you, Anne… " The _But_ hangs unspoken between them, like a guillotine above a felon's head, ready to deliver permanent justice in one swift, merciless strike.

Anne fills in the gap, releasing the blade to bring it slicing down on Phillip's chest. "But…  not as much as you care for him."

Phillip swallows hard, his jaw trembling. Brief tears sting his eyes. "I never… I-I didn't-- " He never meant to hurt her. He never meant to feel this way. He doesn't want to _lose_ her.

Yet…

His heart aches for the strong arms that carried his limp body from a fire that almost razed everything he, and the circus company, and _him_ , loved to the ground, and left senseless destruction in its wake. When he looks at Anne, breathes in her scent, it is gleaming hazel eyes that he wishes he were staring into, and a heady, fragrant musk that he wants wreathed around him, clouding his senses until he's as sweetly intoxicated as he would be after a round of shots.

For Phillip, Anne was a solid, corporeal, and _breathtaking_ representation of what _the other side_ held in store.

But, it was someone else who gave him that push to reach _the other side_. Who assured him that it was accessible to him, to begin with. He just needed to accept the key that was offered.

"He _saved me_ ," he finally says, voice shaking and so quiet, he can't be sure that Anne has heard him.

 

\----

 

The night the fire was started was one of the most terrifying of Barnum's life. In one fell swoop, in a wall of scorching flame, he almost lost _both_ of his families and everything that he had worked so hard for. Everything he had dreamed of.

And, the beautiful soul that ached for more, but was so _used_ to being restrained, to being _caged_ , he had to be convinced to seek that _more_ out, the owner of the bluest eyes Barnum had ever seen, that powerful form burgeoning with talent and grace and electrifying youthful vitality hidden behind self-enforced walls that had just begun to break down…

"I could have lost him," he breathes, forming his trembling hands into a steeple before him, and bowing his head to hide his face in them.

"Phillip?" Charity asks, ever so gently.

Barnum sucks in a breath and prays that his voice won't break, giving way to a sob as he answers, " _Yes_."

The embers in the fireplace flicker and begin to die, and as the faint smell of smoke rises up, wafting off of them, it is almost as if Barnum is transported back to that night, to the heart of the fire, watching foundations splinter with deafening cracks, fixtures and furniture explode into flame. Smoke was omnipresent- filling his nose, his mouth, his lungs, stinging his eyes, and charring Phillip's beautiful face when he _finally_ found him-

Still. Heartrendingly _still_ , with a bleeding gash in his head.

After Jenny Lind and the horribly misguided mistake that was, after the media frenzy and scandal, after the blaze… Barnum _cannot_ lose Charity, again.

But, had Phillip died, that night… his body would have been the heaviest weight Barnum had ever had to carry.

 

\----

 

"Barnum? I know. I was there when he carried you out of-- "

"It wasn't _just_ the fire," Phillip interjects. Though, as smoke became the only thing he could taste and smell, and heat, searing, _excruciating_ heat was all that he could feel on every side, trapping him; as his legs lost the strength to drive him forward and a splintering crack rang out, sending a shock of intense pain along his skull, Phillip had no doubt in his mind that he was going to die, that night.

Die a failure. A miserable failure who couldn't save anyone he cared about from their own destruction.

Die without ever truly reaching _the other side_.

It was only because of Barnum that his life did not end in that fire.

Phineas Taylor Barnum, that maddening, impossible, and quite possibly insane man, had granted Phillip something to engross himself in, a reason to abandon his vice and the blackouts it induced, a _purpose_.

He gave him a _home_.

"Anne, he gave my life _meaning_. He brought me so much more joy than I thought I could ever feel. He is… " Phillip swallows what he's sure is a lump rising in his throat, but he is smiling, smiling like Barnum wanted him to. "Unabashedly and unrepentantly _ridiculous_. But…" Maybe he is flying too close to the sun. Maybe he is damning himself. Nevertheless, "I _want_ him."

 

\----

 

"He is very dear to you," Charity says softly.

Barnum can only nod, sure his face is as white as a damned man's.

"Do you…" Charity repositions herself so she is right in front of him. She curls a finger under his chin and tips it up, and when her eyes meet his, Barnum cannot bring himself to tear his gaze away. "Phineas, do you want to be with him?"

The question tightens like a noose around Barnum's neck. He has entertained thoughts- of minimizing the distance between himself and Phillip until it ceases to exist, of running his fingers through Phillip's always immaculately styled hair and undoing at least one of the buttons on his shirt to relieve him of the burden of adhering to the constraints of rigid perfection. Of dancing with him until they're chest to chest and passionate heat flickers in the air around them. Like it did that night in the bar, when winning Phillip over was the only thing on his mind.

Of pressing his mouth to Phillip's too dry and cracked lips to breathe life back into him after the fire almost stole it away. And, just for the pleasure of it. To _taste_ and _explore_ him.

And, he loathes himself for every one of them. He is no religious man, not by a long shot, but his commitment is to his _wife_. That commitment includes emotional fidelity. Never mind the scathing stares and violent retaliation he and Phillip would undoubtedly incite if they _ever_ …

But, he could weather that. What he _cannot_ do is _betray Charity._

"Phineas?" Charity asks again. There is no fear in her voice, only curiosity and the utmost tenderness.

This is what leads Barnum to answer at last, "I do. More than I ever imagined I could."

 

\----

 

Anne's eyes shine with understanding. She smiles fondly. "You sure don't like to make things easy on yourself, do you, Rich Boy?"

Phillip feels his heart overflow with affection for her. There is a deep well hollowed out in his chest, just for her and all of her beauty and brilliance.

Someone else has a home there, as well, and he has been given permission to encourage that person to take up permanent residence.

Encouragement to eschew the confines of society, shun the teachings of his parents, once more, and rewrite the stars to allow himself a _chance_.

He takes Anne's hand in his and presses a kiss to her soft, delicate knuckles that easily house more strength than his own. "Thank you," he says, his voice tremulous with gratitude, sincerity, and _relief_.

"Of course," she says, and her voice quavers just perceptibly, as well. "I would rather have you in my life as a friend, than not at all."

 

\----

 

"You have always been an unconventional man," Charity says slowly.

Barnum jolts upright, eyes flitting, uncertain, over her face.

"Always wanting more, seeking it out with this unstoppable, unquenchable desire. Sometimes, it can be difficult to keep up with you." A wistful note steals into Charity's voice.

"Charity…" Barnum begins.

She presses a finger to his lips, shushing him. "I told you, whatever it is life throws our way, I want us to tackle it together. If Phillip means this much to you… I won't keep you from him."

A weight is removed from Barnum's chest, and he almost laughs, incredulous, overcome, but he has to be certain that Charity knows: "I don't want to lose you. I _love_ you, and our girls, and-- "

"I know." She stares into his eyes, her hand cradling his face, thumb grazing his cheekbone. "That's why I want you to promise me that you won't leave us. Ever again."

"I won't. God, I _won't_ ," Barnum vows. He sweeps her into an embrace and holds her to his chest, kissing the crown of her head. Gratitude pours from him in the form of whispers into her hair.

Phillip is so _different_ from Charity- often barb-tongued and full of resistance where Charity is soft and sways. But, both of them fill the same role in his life.

They are the voices of reason that keep him from venturing too far into rough, unwelcoming terrain and steering them all toward catastrophe. They are the anchors that ground him when he soars too close to the sun.

They are his _partners_ \- in business and in life.

And, Barnum knows that he needs the both of them: Charity with her vibrancy and tenderness, and Phillip with his (admittedly often too close to earth) rationality and ability to challenge Barnum when necessary, for he would be _incomplete_ without them.

 

\----

 

Applause swells to a thunderous crescendo around Phillip. Grinning, he removes his top hat to take a bow, and then uses it to gesture to his fellow performers.

The elephants give a final blasting call, almost as if on cue.

Phillip exits the center ring to do his last remaining duty as ringleader, for the night, and bid the audience farewell. He is stopped, however, by the sight of a familiar figure standing near the flaps of the tent, having gone unseen up to now, and only revealed by the last members of the audience trickling out.

"You made it," he says, breathless with astonishment. He expected Barnum to be home with his family, tonight.

"I wouldn't miss one of my partner's shows," Barnum says with a grin.

It spurs Phillip to return it. The urge to rush toward Barnum and envelop him in an embrace is almost overwhelming, but something holds him back. Instead, he extends his hand to the older man. "It was a pleasure to have you."

Barnum's grin widens until he's laughing, his eyes alight as they crinkle with merriment.

Phillip eyes him in confusion, a frown tugging at his mouth. "…I didn't say anything particularly funny."

Rather than responding, Barnum reaches out and lays his hands on Phillip's shoulders. He backs the both of them into the shadows under the stands, and before Phillip can ask just what he is up to, his heart pounding against his throat with a dizzying _hope_ , Barnum's lips are on his.

Phillip's surprised " _mmph"_ is immediately swallowed by the force of the kiss, and, closing his eyes, he discards all questions, all want of an explanation, and relaxes into it, as he has been wanting to and wishing for for what feels like forever. He snakes a hand up to latch onto the material of Barnum's shirt, and begins to kiss back without any restraint or reservation.

It is an outburst that is long overdue. It is an explosion of feelings and desires that have been pent up, repressed, for too long. And, their bodies are combustible, bursting into flames at every point of contact.

Phillip tilts his head to the side, opening his mouth to let his tongue enter Barnum's. It glides over his teeth, getting a taste of every warm space and crevice that it can, and Phillip's blood seems to sing: _how_ right _this feels, how_ right _this is._

His heart thumps against his breastbone and he's almost lightheaded with giddiness as he relishes the sensation of the older man's stubble scraping his skin, the way Barnum's hands wander up and down the expanse of his torso and tangle in the back of his hair. There is a possessive quality to the showman's touch, to the way his lips leave a thrilling burn on whatever they come into contact with- possessive and _commanding_ \- and it stirs something within Phillip, sending heat pooling below his stomach.

He didn't fully realize until now, but he has _craved_ this.

As Phillip arches forward, guided by Barnum's hands, and their chests rub together, there is no oxygen left. But, this is fine, _completely fine_ , because Phillip is perfectly happy to breathe in the air Barnum is feeding into his lungs; to let the man's mouth _consume_ his.

The pads of Phillip's fingers are pressed into Barnum's shoulder blades hard enough to leave red impressions behind, and Barnum's hands are on the small of Phillip's back, resting just above the waistline of his pants, when the kiss is broken.

Phillip's breaths are ragged, and Barnum's match them in tempo. His eyes are glazed with a desire that Phillip cannot recall ever being the object of, not this blatantly, not this intensely, and Phillip's eyelashes veil his eyes as heat, and excitement, and ecstasy race through him. "Phin…" he breathes.

In a split-second, Barnum's mouth is affixed to his throat, teeth dragging over the sensitive flesh, his pulse-point, his Adam's apple, and a groan is drawn out of Phillip. He pushes his body as close to Barnum's as he can, almost feverish with the need for _more_ , as much as he can get, and a low growl emits from Barnum as his hands slide around to grip Phillip's hips.

Gradually, the fire ebbs, leaving not devastation behind, but _promise_ , and _bliss_ , and the beginnings of something impossible coming true.

The frenzied kisses and nips littered over every exposed bit of Phillip's neck subside to Barnum nuzzling him with a gentleness that almost makes Phillip's knees buckle.

"Is this… " Phillip gulps, trying his hardest to root himself. The ardent haze over his mind is nearly impenetrable as one brought on by too much whisky, and he's already addicted. "Are you _able_ to… ?"

He won't allow himself to utter the words "be unfaithful to Charity". The idea on its own is insidious, and makes him feel slimy and contemptible for even fostering it.

But, Barnum is nodding and assuring him, "Charity said it was all right."

Phillip's eyes stretch wide before he shakes his head and breathes out, smile quirking his lips, "Bless her. So... " As he trails off, his smile shifts to the makings of a good-humored smirk. "We're sharing you, then?" 

Barnum mirrors his smile, his breathless laughter confirmation. Another obstacle in their path seems to occur to him, however, and the relief and radiant, infectious joy that he _teems_ with dim, fading almost entirely. "Anne Wheeler. Does she-- ?"

Phillip nods, firmly, wanting there to be no room for misunderstandings to persist. "Anne understands."

That simple statement is enough to ease Barnum's mind. His smile returns to his face, somehow more dazzling than usual, and he kisses Phillip again, softer, resting his hand against his neck tenderly.

Phillip's heart is _full_ as he melts into the kiss- fuller than it has ever been, than he ever imagined it could be. The second occupant of the space within it has come home to stay. "Odd arrangement though it may be," he says, so many emotions pouring over, "I've... wanted _this_ \-- "

"--since the fire," Barnum finishes., as if he has known, all along, and wanted this _just as much_. His gaze sobers, and he caresses the underside of Phillip's jaw with his thumb, his touch feather-soft, as if he is worried that Phillip might break. "I thought we were going to lose you, that night. I thought _I_ was going to lose you."

Fear is audible in his words, nearly palpable, and Phillip wants to assuage it for good. "You didn't let that happen," he says, leaning into Barnum's ministrations. He bites at his lip as his body continues to respond to the man's propinquity, shivers dancing on every pore, stippling his skin. "Besides… if I had died, who else would keep you from running this circus into the ground?"

Barnum chuckles heartily and plants a kiss on Phillip's nose, bending to touch his forehead to Phillip's. His fingers curl around the collar of the ringmaster's coat as he remarks, more than slightly amused and _elated_ , "'Who else', indeed."

Phillip kisses the endlessly irritating- and _irresistible_ \- smirk that ensues, simply because he is now free to.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
